Nathalie of Everstone: Lady Page
by Heart in Spades
Summary: The only girl after the Lioness to begin her page training, Nathalie is shunned and bullied at the palace. She vows to be better than the boys – and succeeds. What they don’t know, however, is that she bears a secret that could shatter Tortall forever.
1. Unwritten

**Drench yourself in words unspoken  
Live your life with arms wide open  
Today is where your book begins  
The rest is still unwritten**

**~ Unwritten, Natasha Bedingfield  
**

"So, your daughter wishes to train as a page?"

Lord Wyldon sat at his desk, rifling through a rather disorganized stack of papers and trying not to look too incredulous, despite his current emotions. He hadn't even entertained the possibility that there was the slightest chance that _any_ girl might someday have the idea that she could step forth to try her hand at a knight's training, much less be let do so by her parents. It had been quite a shock when he had received the letter saying that Lord Marcus of Everstone wished for his only daughter to become a knight – quite a shock indeed.

"Yes."

The reply was curt and pressed, as if the speaker had little time to spare, and didn't want to be speaking at all. Lord Wyldon raised an eyebrow. Lord Marcus didn't have a reputation for being temperamental, but it seemed as though the man was in a right foul mood at the moment. From what snippets of information he'd heard on this man, the training master knew he was not one to cross. Lord Wyldon cleared his throat, suddenly very uncomfortable with the man's steely gaze that was fixed in his direction.

"You do realise that life will be…difficult for her. A knight's road is not an easy one by far. Perhaps she would do better at the convent, or – "

"I have made my decision, my lord, and I assure you – I have considered all the factors that I'm sure you're thinking about right now. Not to seem rude, my lord, but I _do_ have some confidence in my ability to make important choices."

Lord Wyldon took a moment to look at the young girl who had just spoken, something he had avoided doing since he had first seen her as she entered the room. She was definitely not what he had had in mind – for any page, much less a girl – and he was starting to wonder if the entire Everstone clan was out of their minds.

She was a petite little thing, even for her age, with delicate features and a small frame like one would expect from a daughter of a noble house. Her skin was a pale white like the finest porcelain, her round face framed by long, pale blonde hair that fell in soft waves down to the small of her back. The girl's lips were rosy and full, her hands were delicate and long-fingered, and her crystal blue eyes seemed to see everything around her. All in all, she looked like a porcelain doll, and a delicate one, at that. The man leaned over to whisper in the girl's ear. Although his voice was hushed, Wyldon could hear his words clearly.

"There's no reason to be rude, Nathalie," Lord Marcus whispered, "Apologise to Lord Wyldon immediately." This, Wyldon found strange, as most would have reprimanded the girl openly, rather than try to be discreet about. In general, noble houses believed that scolding should be at least somewhat public – unless there were commoners present, of course – as it was supposed to make the lesson stick better. Lord Marcus, though, seemed somewhat uncomfortable with correcting Nathalie at all.

"My sincerest apologies, my lord," said the girl curtseying low, and Wyldon noted for probably the tenth time that she had been there, her heavy skirts, and found himself vaguely wondering if she had only worn skirts to annoy him, "We were set upon by bandits on the journey, and I am currently getting by on very little sleep. I do not believe I am thinking straight."

Lord Wyldon nodded stiffly, standing up and placing his hands on the desk in front of him. "You will find, Nathalie, that although the law permits it and the Lioness _is_ one of the finer swordsmen of our realm," the girl's hands twitched almost imperceptibly with the desire to correct him. Swords_women_ she wanted to say, and she _is_ the best, "That such a path is not one for a young girl, and you would do much better for yourself if you were to simply forget this foolish childhood dream and pursue a more accessible life at the convent."

"I respect that opinion, my lord," was all the little girl said. Nathalie's face was the picture of innocence. Lord Wyldon's brow twitched for what seemed like the millionth time that day. He wanted desperately to scold the girl for her impertinence, but she was just being so gods-damned _polite_.

Nathalie wished desperately to point out that he was only repeating what he'd been saying for the past half hour, and that she considered none of it true. Still, she kept her head held straight, and didn't falter as the training master instructed her – with a great deal of reluctance, she noticed – to go see the tailor who would take her measurements and provide for her a page's uniform and then to arrive at a designated area where she would meet her page sponsor. First, though, she would have to find her room.

Lord Marcus left soon after, leaving Nathalie to her own devices. She found the head chambermaid, Sonia, who although a bit rough around the edges, Nathalie found to be quite an engaging person. As Sonia led Nathalie to her rooms, she also offered a few words of advice.

"Them boys'll be cruel, you can count on it, an' they're gonna do their very best to make you leave." Nathalie nodded; it was what she had expected. "Keep an eye out for practical jokes and the like. Though they might not look it, these boys aren' above doing the nastiest things."

They finally stopped in front of a door at the far end of the hallway. Sonia turned to look at her and sighed. She pulled out a golden key she had hanging on a chain. "I took the liberty of getting a charms-mistress down in Chorus to charm this key for you. It only works if you're the one using it, but you can trust it to someone and it'll work then. I have one of my own, just in case, as I understand that you already have a personal servant?" Nathalie nodded, and Sonia slipped the key into the lock. The door opened to reveal a sparsely furnished room that was decent in size with a bed in the corner, a wardrobe, and a rack to hang weapons. Sonia gave the girl a small lecture about the responsibilities of owning a personal servant, before Nathalie thanked her and the woman left to let Nathalie make herself at home – as much as she could, anyway.

After unpacking a reasonable amount of things, Nathalie headed off to the palace tailor, who, upon seeing her small, bird-like frame, merely grunted and threw her the smallest size uniform he had. She resolved to get her maid to take it in at a later time. Successfully kitted out in her new page's uniform – although she was somewhat disgusted by how the red and gold clashed with just everything about her – she eventually found the crowd of page's where they were to meet their sponsors. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw that she wasn't last. She had never been to the palace before, and had found herself having to ask directions at least twice.

Finally, everyone was assembled, and Wyldon had arrived. Nathalie shifted uneasily as she saw people looking in her direction and whispering, but she held her head calmly. Even though she was the only girl here – and the first to ever be known as a girl training as a page – it didn't mean that she had to be completely ostracized. Lord Wyldon cleared his throat and everyone became silent. He dragged a new page forward, a meek-looking brown-haired boy.

"Carl of Dantin – who will sponsor him?" A boy in the back raised his hands and Carl was shoved over in that direction. Nathalie watched as others were matched up with sponsors in the same fashion. It seemed like an auction, almost, she mused.

"Serell of Kramer." There was there was no hesitation before one of the remaining older boys raised his hand and began moving towards the stocky black-haired boy who's name had just been called. It was then that she realised that some of the boys were waiting for a specific person to be called so that they could sponsor that particular one, not just at random like she'd though. Nathalie suspected that some of them were possibly kinsmen. Eventually there was only a smattering of new pages, and Nathalie was starting to wonder if Wyldon wasn't calling her on purpose, just so that he could see her squirming when she realised she was alone, or if he just wanted to get take people out of the running who might be inclined to sponsor her. She knew – as did the rest of Tortall – that he didn't just disapprove of, but was _opposed_ to the laws saying that girl's could become pages. Nathalie bit her lip. If the training master didn't like her, so be it.

"Nathalie of Everstone." A hush fell over the older pages, before whispers took root again, this time with a few snickers mixed in. No one raised their hand. Nathalie straightened the oversized uniform, uncomfortable with her present situation. "Someone needs to sponsor her," snapped Wyldon, searching the small crowd of pages for someone he might be able to optically bully into stepping forward for her. He didn't want to spend the day trying to find someone who would take her, and he couldn't very well leave her to her own devices.

"I'll sponsor her."

All heads whipped towards the speaker, a tall boy with short dark hair and stormy grey eyes. There was something about his expression that she couldn't quite place, as if he was either mocking her, or being totally serious – she couldn't tell which. Wyldon raised an eyebrow.

"You, Aaron of Drennath? I wouldn't think you one to want to sponsor a page, let alone this one," Nathalie restrained herself from flinching at the implications of the training master's words. It was becoming increasingly apparent that no one was going to let her forget that she wasn't wanted here. From the way Lord Wyldon spoke to him, she could tell that this boy was something of a trouble-maker, or had done something to put him at the bottom of the training master's list. The boy grinned wickedly.

"Of course, my lord Wyldon, I understand completely," a twitch of the man's brow told Nathalie that he knew he was being mocked, "Although I have not expressed a burning desire to sponsor a page before now, at this point in time, I doubt that I would mind one, and as the only volunteer, I believe myself to be the obvious choice."

There was a moment's silence, while Lord Wyldon stared the boy, Aaron, down. Or tried to, at least. After merely seconds of him glaring at the boy, who looked much to cheerful for the situation, Lord Wyldon conceded. "Very well," was all he said, before lumbering off down the hall, annoyance evident in his step.

The new pages all filtered away with their new sponsors, except for Nathalie, who was still distrustful of this Aaron of Drennath. She recognized the family – their house was one of the oldest in Tortall, almost as old as Conté, even – but couldn't understand why he would choose to sponsor her, of all people. Sure, Everstone was decently wealthy and dated back to the book of Gold, but their families were barely even acquaintances, let alone friendly with each other.

Aaron eyed her calmly, still standing at least ten feet away from her. Neither he nor Nathalie had moved since the other pages had left. Standing silently in the empty corridor with only one other person whom she didn't know was getting pretty awkward.

"Are you coming?" he asked, finally breaking the silence. Nathalie looked up from staring at the floor. Something akin to shock was evident in her widened eyes. She wasn't scared, just a little…nervous. Nathalie bit her lip, unsure of what to say or do. "Are you coming?" he repeated, a little exasperated this time, "We should get going or we'll be late." This time, Nathalie hastened forward, internally embarrassed for acting like such a sissy.

"Late for what?" she asked quietly once she was standing beside him. She stood there, shifting from foot to foot and not meeting his gaze. Aaron shrugged, glancing down the hall.

"Beats me."


	2. Chasing Pavements

**Should I give up,  
Or should I just keep chasin' pavements?  
Even if it leads nowhere  
Or would it be a waste  
Even if I knew m****y place  
Should I leave it there**

**~ Chasing Pavements, Adele**

After several long moments of trotting silently behind Aaron, Nathalie decided to make an attempt at breaking the ice. "So," she started, "How's life here?" It seemed as if her question fell on deaf ears, as Aaron just continued on walking. Slightly irritated that she was being ignored, Nathalie hurried up to the boy's side and proceeded to glare at him as she waited for a response. All she got was a smirk, though, which was probably due to the fact that a tiny little blonde girl staring menacingly at a boy at least a head taller than her wasn't exactly terrifying.

It took Nathalie a moment to realize that Aaron had stopped in front of her room. How had he known where it was? She decided against asking, as she doubted he would answer. "You should probably get ready for dinner," he said steadily, beginning to walk away, "I trust you can find your own way there." The last part was a statement, rather than a question. Nathalie was unsure whether or not he wanted her to get lost or actually thought that she was smart enough to figure out the directions. Then again, she could always ask the servants.

As she had overheard another page sponsor telling his page that they were allowed to wear their own clothes to dinner, Nathalie decided to wear one of her favourite dresses. Removing it from her trunk, she let a tendril of silver flow out of her to smooth out the wrinkles in the dress. She'd been surprised Lord Wyldon hadn't mentioned how her having the Gift might affect how the conservatives think of her. Perhaps he hadn't known. She'd included it in the letter, too bad if he hadn't read to the bottom.

She quickly donned the dress, feeling its expensive material slide against her skin. She was too young to wear corsets – too young by far – for which she was eternally grateful. They were horrible, horrible torture instruments that had obviously been designed by a man. Nathalie had seen what happened to the bodies of women who wore them too long. The distorted, unnatural waists of those women had almost made her physically sick. A man would never believe that a lady was in constant pain, enduring the unnatural reformation of her body just to fit in with the latest trend. They would also never believe that it was their standards of what was acceptable that prompted it. The blue of the dress made her eyes stand out, although it was a softer colour than her bright blue orbs. After dragging a brush through her hair and pinning it back, Nathalie excited her room, heading to where she thought the mess hall might be.

It wasn't long before she found it, and the entire room turned to stare as she entered. The whispers were the worst, though. Sure, she'd been the topic of many rumours before and could deal with it just fine, but it didn't mean she had to like it. She got her food before making her way over to where Aaron was sitting, as all the other new pages seemed to be sitting with their sponsors. When she sat down, he looked her over, an eyebrow raised in question.

"By Mithros! What are you _wearing_?" he said, almost loud enough for it to be an exclamation. Nathalie shrugged delicately, turning her chin up just slightly.

"A dress," she replied cooly, "I had thought it was quite obvious, unless – have you ever seen one before?" Aaron tilted his head, staring at her in a way that made her uneasy. After a half-moment, he smirked.

"I certainly have, but I much prefer what's," he paused, flicking to an area distinctly _below_ her face, "underneath them." Nathalie's eyes narrowed sharply, and she folded her hands delicately in her lap. She was only eleven for gods's sake! And, come to think of it, _he_ could be no more than fourteen. Nathalie wondered if all of Tortall was infected with this same disease of coming on _much_ too strong.

"The Temple of the Great Mother Goddess is just down in Corus, is it not? I think it's wonderful that women can always seek shelter there from abusive relationships and…" she glanced at Aaron, smiling prettily, "…unwanted advances. The punishments for the men, though, are _quite_ severe."

Aaron cleared his throat as Lord Wyldon stood to give prayers.

There was nothing interesting or useful about them, in Nathalie's opinion, although she did pray to the gods. Still, why remind the gods constantly about how important they are? A god with a superiority complex isn't a good god at all. Even divine beings could be flawed. No need to help them along.

Nathalie couldn't help but notice that the stares didn't abate in the slightest from the point when she'd entered the room to the point which she'd exited. Walking down the dimly-lit hallway, she spotted a stocky-looking boy coming around the corner. He was flanked by two equally burly pages.

"So," sneered the apparent leader, "This _girl_ thinks she has what it takes to become a knight." His companions laughed, but Nathalie simply stood there calmly. "That's so…_cute_," the boy said, and Nathalie raised an eyebrow. "Think there's something wrong about that?" he asked, stepping forward until he was only a couple feet away from her, "Do you think that _you_ could do all the things a boy could? Dream on. Actually, come to think of it, just drop the entire thing. You'd fit in well at the convent," he glanced at her again. "Very well." Nathalie decided that it _did_ apply to all of Tortall, or the capital, at the very least.

"You are entitled to your own opinion," she said, still retaining her patient tone, "As I am entitled to mine – although I must warn you that I have a tendency to surprise." With that, she began walking off towards her rooms again, but the boy called out.

"That's just _too much_."

Nathalie knew he was mocking her, but she didn't really care. She stopped and whirled around to face him, smiling patronizingly. She tilted her head to the side, plastering on her most innocent face.

"Well if you find this all overwhelming, I do believe you should return home."

She didn't give herself time to savour the look of fury upon the boy's face. Instead, Nathalie headed off down the hall, her steps delicate and lady-like, something she knew would only further infuriate him. As she rounded the corner, she let a smirk flash across her face. They were _too_ easy. It was only as she walked away that she put a name to the boy's face. Conner of Ronsen. The fief was by no means more powerful than hers, but they were a fair shot better known. Everstone, although old, rich and well-respected, wasn't very involved with Tortall at all. Nathalie sighed, remembering the reason why.

She removed the golden key to her room from up her sleeve, where she'd hidden it just in case one of the boys had it in mind to steal it. Nathalie heard a click as the door opened. She smothered a gasp.

The room was nothing like it had been before dinner.

Feathers from her eviscerated pillow were floating all around the room, the desk and chair overturned. The drawers of the wardrobe had been pulled out, the sheets and mattress of the bed strewn across the room. Someone had dragged a sharp instrument – a dagger, perhaps – across the wall, tearing the wallpaper. She stepped through the wreckage to the wall, and smoothed the wallpaper back up to its original position on the wall. There was a message written there.

_You don't belong here, slut – go back to the convent._

Nathalie paused, unsure of what to make of it, before she let her shoulders relax. She should have expected this. With a sigh, Nathalie moved around the room, righting furniture and replacing things in their original positions. For the feathers and wallpaper, she let her silver fire deal with those. The physical rearranging tired her more than the magic did – after all, she had had formal training for her Gift.

The eleven-year-old girl made her bed silently with fresh sheets she had removed from the untouched closet. She stood there, looking around at the room which now bore no signs of ever having been ravaged, before throwing herself on her bed, silent tears slipping down her face. She hugged the new pillow tightly, burying her face in it. It was all so _unfair_. She'd known it wasn't going to be easy by any standards, but you can never truly prepare yourself for something like this. Nathalie's finger dug into the soft fabric of the pillow and sheets, her knuckles turning white.

It was going to get a lot harder.

A flapping noise made her snap out of her curled-up position. Nathalie sighed, tear tracks still visible on the pale skin of her cheeks, as she made her way over to the window, gently pulling the curtains away from the opening and shutting it. She touched a fingertip to the latch, letting her magic pool inside it. The window wouldn't open for anyone but her, now. No one was going to get into her room through her window anymore. Before she had moved from the window, something caught her eye in the courtyard below. It was Aaron.

She frowned slightly, as it was later than they were permitted to be outside the palace. Nathalie was about to turn away when she saw his calm grey eyes staring up at her from the courtyard. She bit her lip nervously, simply looking down at him from her window, and he gave a sort of half-smile before just strolling away. Nathalie sighed. He would be a difficult one to figure out. She found herself wondering for about the tenth time that evening whether or not she could trust him. She pulled the curtains closed. Nathalie scanned the room again, this time noticing the overall effect.

It was a simple room, plain stone floors, sparsely furnished and devoid of decoration or colour – something she knew a middle-low-class servant would be decently comfortable in. Then again, it was important for pages to be humble. It was only once you became a knight that you started living in luxury. Although she would never say it – as many knights were easily offended when they themselves were concerned – Nathalie disapproved of the privileges given to knights. The respect was a given and deserved, but the purses, the ballads, all the foolish titles. They were pointless to Nathalie. She also noted that many knights abused their power, especially on commoners – especially women. There had been a great many cases of knights being accused of molestation and rape by townswomen, but the Temple of the Goddess was rarely able to convict a knight who had the support of the Crown as well as their noble status.

Nathalie peeled off her gown, the one the boys had been staring at and mocking all through dinner. There was nothing wrong with it, perhaps a bit on the pretty side, but nothing too remarkable. She placed it in the laundry hamper, before slipping on her nightgown. Just because she wanted her knighthood didn't mean she couldn't be a girl. Unfortunately for her, most people would beg to differ.

She laid her head down on the pillow, which bore small marks from where she'd been crying. Nathalie rolled onto her back, trying to forget about them. It was rare that she cried, but it happened. When it did, she was always just so _ashamed_, like she could have been stronger, held out longer, stopped sooner. There were times, though, when she just cried. Just cried, sometimes for no reason at all, sometimes for every reason in the world. Nathalie wasn't quite sure which one it was this time.

"I'll prove them wrong," she whispered to herself, staring up at the ceiling, "I'll make them wish they never tried to run me away." Nathalie closed her eyes.

"I will be better than them - I will."

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Tortall or the things in it, although I have invented some people and fiefs as well as this plot...Tamora Pierce owns this stuff.


	3. White

****

Don't let rain clouds  
Cry at all of your parades  
Let the other side of darkness kiss your face

**~ White, Lights**

Nathalie awoke before dawn, as she was used to. Back at Everstone, she would always take her horse, Blanchette, out for a run before the sun came up, when she would guide the mare to the crest of the hill and watch the sun rise. It was the same sun, she knew, that the entire world saw. It made her feel small, yes, but it also gave her the feeling that no matter what happened in the world, there was always that one constant, that one thing that would continue on, would always be there. The sun. The symbol of Mithros.

She felt the same way when watching the full moon hover in the night sky, the way it cycled through its different forms, sometimes not appearing at all. The unpredictability, the mysteriousness of the moon enraptured her even more than the gloriousness of the sun. The bright, silver moon was the symbol of the Great Mother Goddess, who was so alike to the shining orb that graced the skies most nights. Not all, though. Nathalie knew the patterns the moon followed – astronomy being a rather basic lesson taught in many noble households – but there was always just one tiny little detail about it that seemed different every night. The moon was the light inside the darkness, the one that didn't illuminate the physical plane, but rather your emotions.

Nathalie had not fallen asleep staring at the moon.

She had closed her curtains, blocked it out. However much she knew it was the same moon, she felt traitorous looking at it when not staring out the familiar window of her bedroom. This room, inside this page's wing of this palace just felt so _wrong_. She would get used to it, of course, but it would never be the same. It would become home, sure, but never _her_ home. She only had one of those.

And she couldn't go back.

Nathalie got dressed quickly in the gaudy red and gold uniform. The gold trim clashed horribly with her pale blonde hair, and the flame red made her eyes look more unnatural than usual. The outfit was uncomfortable, it being so big and all, but Nathalie decided that this, too, was something she would have to get used to. After all – a knight has to adapt to their surroundings. You're best off starting them young.

She was about to head for the door when she realized that no one else was probably up yet. She paused where she stood, weighing her options. There really wasn't much to do in her room, and no one to talk to either, as her maid wouldn't arrive for another day or two. There was always the option of going out for a ride on Blanchette, who could act as a warhorse as much as a lady's horse, but she wasn't quite sure if she was allowed out at such an early hour.

The only rules she knew pertaining to the pages was what Lord Wyldon had said and what she'd overheard from the conversations the other pages had been having with their sponsors at dinner the night before. Other than a few snide comments, Aaron had been totally silent. He was a strange character, that was for sure, but he didn't seem like one of those who wanted her gone. Even still, Nathalie had conflicting feelings whether or not he would make a good friend. On one hand, he seemed like the kind of person she normally took to, but on the other, that was pretty much all she could glean from what she'd seen of him.

Unsure of whether or not leaving her rooms was allowed, Nathalie picked up her belt knife and began sharpening it. The tempered steel glistened, and Nathalie smiled to herself. The crest on its hilt was not of Raven Armoury – it was better. She traced the symbol lightly with her fingertip, and the thought that this would be one of the last times she would touch this knife with un-calloused fingers crossed her mind. She laid the now deadly-sharp knife back on her bed, standing back to admire it, this time from a distance. It was the very finest money could buy, but that wasn't why it held such a special place in her heart. Tucking it into its sheath at her waist, Nathalie hoped the boys didn't feel like stealing it.

Standing in her near-empty room with no more weapons that needed sharpening, no work that need be done, and pretty much…nothing to do, Nathalie sat down on her bed and sighed. She had been chewing her lower lip for a bit before a spark of inspiration hit her. Seizing a pad of paper and something to write with, Nathalie set about writing.

Even in Tortall, women authors were unheard of, the subject, taboo. Nathalie didn't really care, though, as she was used to people praising her work. She thought about how and where she'd grown up and decided that maybe their opinion was a little biased. Okay, maybe a lot biased, but some of them had looked genuinely proud. Her mother had said she had a natural affinity for creative writing. Nathalie wasn't sure if she could tell the Mithran priests, though, as there was always the possibility that they, like so many others, wouldn't approve and do everything in their power to make her stop.

When the breakfast bell rang, Nathalie jolted to attention, as if she had been in a trance. Looking down, pages of her smooth, elegant script stared up at her, and she put it away with a gentle sigh. It was always satisfied to look upon what she'd written. Not always read it, but sometimes just look at all the words that she had placed there. Checking her appearance one last time, Nathalie exited the room into the hall which was now being filled with a swarm of pages. She took great care to lock the door on the way out. The golden key was ingenious, really, as even if someone stole it, they wouldn't be able to open the door anyway.

Once at breakfast, she quickly found Aaron – as pages were supposed to remain mostly with their sponsors – who pretended to not know who she was for the first four minutes before finally relenting under her death glare. Lord Wyldon gave thanks to the gods – mostly Mithros, Nathalie noticed, but didn't really mind that much as the Goddess was slipped in once or twice – and she prayed silently in her own head to the gods she knew Lord Wyldon wouldn't have even heard of.

As she sat down to her meal, she noticed that this time, there were far less people staring at her. They were still staring, whispering and laughing a bit, but the decrease from the night before gave her a tingly feeling inside, almost. Maybe, just maybe, things were going to turn out okay.

Nathalie picked at her food, unsure of how exactly she should act in front of them. Back at Everstone, she was noble, and so took her meals with the Lord and Lady of Everstone. She didn't know other routines that other noble houses followed, and wasn't even sure if they were different at all. From what she saw, it wasn't much different, but she couldn't help but notice that their manners were atrocious.

She passed the meal completely silent, while the boys around her chatted amicably, including Aaron who seemed to be taking the role of the 'popular' kid who was a natural at it. He didn't vie for the attention, she saw, but Nathalie also noticed that he didn't seem to realize that the boys were all looking up to him. Except, she noticed, a slightly older blonde boy that looked very…pretty. Not as pretty as Nathalie, obviously, but far too pretty to be very manly. Something about him told her that he was definitely not a girl in disguise.

As they cleared out of the dining hall and towards their first class, Aaron chose that moment to speak to her, which was startling, almost, as she'd thought he was avoiding any sort of social interaction with her. "So, I saw you staring at Joren of Stone Mountain," he said conversationally, and Nathalie raised an eyebrow.

"Stone Mountain? Interesting. I was just thinking – he looks rather odd."

Aaron snorted lightly. Apparently he didn't like this 'Joren' very much. "Looks too delicate, doesn't he? I know – if he didn't want to become a knight I would have recommended him to the convent." Nathalie didn't bother suppressing a grin. People were giving Aaron odd looks, like, _why are you talking to the Girl?_ but he didn't seem to mind or even notice.

"He looks sort of like you."

Nathalie looked up at Aaron, startled. Comparing _her_ to a Stone Mountain? Outrageous. Sure, their hair was blonde, but his was almost white and hers had more golden touches to it. They were both very pale, but he looked pasty whereas she had a more creamy complexion. His face was angular, sharp, whereas hers was delicate but softer, with a somewhat heart-shaped face and her eyes were blue, not grey. They were obvious differences, in Nathalie's opinion, so why dwell on the similarities? Stone Mountain had no relation to Everstone, anyway, and the Lord and Lady of Everstone didn't look much like Nathalie, either. Lady Everstone had dark brown hair, and the same went for the Lord. Nathalie was the anomaly back at Everstone. Most of the time she didn't mind, but sometimes it could get tiring.

"No need to get offended – I was just kidding," said Aaron, putting his hands up defensively. Nathalie looked surprised; she hadn't realized she was glaring at him. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Sorry."

Aaron barked out a laugh, making Nathalie jump about a mile. At her questioning look, he explained, "You look just like my sister when you do that…thing." Nathalie raised an eyebrow.

"What thing?"

At this, Aaron looked slightly uncomfortable. He scratched his head, searching for an answer. Nathalie stared back at him calmly, trying to make him loose focus – it was fun to see him floundering. After a while, he finally spoke.

"When you stick your bottom lip out like that it – "

" – it's called a pout," explained Nathalie, rolling her eyes, "It is also by no means a complicated word. Pout. It's the term us regular people use. P-o-u-t. To thrust out the lips, especially in displeasure or sullenness." Nathalie bit her lips, and placed her hands on her hips for dramatic effect. "I know what to get you for midwinter," she said proudly, and Aaron raised an eyebrow. "Okay, provided I am still here for midwinter, which I do hope I am, I shall get you…" she paused dramatically, and, with a flourish, said, "A dictionary!"

Aaron was so confused that he walked into the nearest wall.

Nathalie giggled, continuing on to her writing/reading class. Aaron, being older, had different classes than her in general, but that she counted a good thing, as she was unsure she could stand him the entire day. Not that she absolutely loathed him to the core, but his presence was just very…tiring. Aaron had just rejoined her, rubbing his forehead, when Nathalie grinned at him and slipped inside the classroom, which caused Aaron to look back at her and walk into another wall. That time, though, Nathalie suspected it was on purpose. Why, though, would he willingly walk into a wall? Just so she could see him do it?

The Mithran priests weren't very impressed with the general quality of writing produced by some of the other first year pages, but one of them – as there were three, for some reason, teaching the class – whisked away Nathalie's practice paper before she could say a thing, and started proclaiming how tidy and elegant her writing was.

It wasn't long before one of the other priests snatched it from his hand and slapped it down on Nathalie's desk again, saying, "You write like a girl," as if it were something to be ashamed of. For the rest of the class, she couldn't fathom why, as since she _was_ a girl, it only made sense to _write_ like one. And if her penmanship could be small, quick, neat and legible, what was the problem? Was there something wrong with it looking half-way decent? The style the priests were teaching was how to write small and neat with letters that looked like nothing more than small blocks on the page. In Nathalie's opinion, there was no personality to it whatsoever. She'd had a tutor that had told her something along the lines of, "Express yourself in as many ways as you can, in your writing, your penmanship, your words, your art. Feel free to be the person you want to be, and you shall lead a better life." Strangely, Nathalie had always taken those words to heart, even though that particular tutor had tried to torch Everstone the next morning, claiming they were 'evil demons that should be sent back to the Black God's realm.' Things like that didn't normally happen, although they weren't unheard of.

The rest of the class was eneventful, and Nathalie was debating whether or not she could stand the monotony of it all. She had History next, which could either be very interesting or dreadfully boring. The teacher, Myles of Olau, was the foster-father of Alanna the Lioness, but Nathalie didn't let that get to her. He was a jovial man, in some ways, but she found it most captivating to watch how passionate he got about Tortall's history. She felt a nagging sensation as he talked about Tortall's neighbours and other countries, Tusaine, Maren, Scanra, Carthak, the Yamani Isles, even. He mentioned Sarain once or twice, too, and it was all Nathalie could do not to jump out of her seat and add on to his list of realms.

After a while, he scratched his head, as if he'd just realized something. "I apologize," he said, "You'll learn most of this in Geography. I'll move on to the History aspect soon, I promise – there's no need to make these classes any more boring than they already are." A few pages laughed, but Nathalie wasn't one of them.

It wasn't that she didn't like Myles of Olau, but for the first time since…arriving, she was starting to feel somewhat…homesick.

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I'm so sorry for not updating recently! Life has been pretty hectic. Anyway, I'm sorry that nothing really happens in this chapter, but stuff will come soon, I promise!

Disclaimer: I do not own Tortall, or that stuff. That belongs to Tamora Pierce. Nathalie, however is mine. :)


	4. I've Just Seen a Face

A bazillion and three apologies for how long this has been! Life got busy, and then I lost interest in this...But I'm back! I know this is a bit shorter, but at least it's here. I know that the content isn't the greatest either, but I tried. I will try and update sooner (although that isn't saying much) and I hope you like this despite its horribleness...

Disclaimer Thingy: Tammy Pierce owns all.

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**I've just seen a face,**

**I can't forget the time or place**

**That we'd just met, she's just the girl for me**

**And I want all the world to see we've met**

**~I've Just Seen a Face, The Beatles**

Nathalie's next class passed about the same way as the first, with the Mithran priests teaching the class, but scolding her. It was almost as if they didn't want to teach her at all, or even have her in the same classroom as the boys. This she counted only a semi-bad thing, as they didn't appear to hate her just because she existed, instead merely because she was a girl. All it would take was to prove to them that she could do well being a girl. For the time being, though, things would be less than nice.

As she filed into the dining hall with the other pages, she noticed that she didn't feel _too_ out of place among all the boys. Sure, it was uncomfortable, but she could easily relate that to being in a strange place with a bunch of people she didn't know and probably never really would. With her hair tucked into a tight bun at the back of her head, she could have passed for an extremely feminine boy. That would change with time, she knew, because at such an age, _anyone_ could pass for either gender with the right hair and the right clothes. Even when she was around twelve or so, it would be completely clear how much like a girl she would look.

Someone might even say a _pretty_ girl. Ugh.

She could really only hope that one day she would be in some horribly disfiguring accident and end up looking either more like a boy or a little less like a human, so that the boys couldn't easily ostracize her as a girl. Looks mattered to Nathalie, that was true, but not so much that she would hate being ugly. Nathalie had heard stories even before coming to the palace, about how boys treated 'pretty girls'. Was it too much to ask, a little respect? Nathalie shook her head to herself as she sat down at one of the long tables. Aaron hadn't arrived yet, but surely he would soon. Looking around the dining hall, she saw that it was empty of most of the other first year pages. She could only deduce that they took a little longer to get to lunch after morning classes, and so were still on their way. The pages that _were_ present, however, all seemed to be staring at her, and whispering amongst themselves. '_Probably surprised I'm still here,' _she thought to herself bitterly, her arms crossed as she waited for Lord Wyldon to say the prayers for this meal.

Since the seats around her were relatively empty – she could only count a handful of first year pages that looked too meek to even consider talking about her – Nathalie couldn't hear any snatches of conversation that were related to her. It was unnerving, that people had so many things to say about her and she didn't know any of it, especially since what they were saying was guaranteed to be negative. She let out an impatient sigh, her eyes searching for Aaron. Although Nathalie wasn't sure if he would willingly sit with her again, she could still trust that he was the only one at the Palace who didn't treat her like vermin. His intentions were still unknown, of course, but for the moment, she supposed it was _nice_ to have at least one not-enemy. Nathalie turned her eyes back up to the front of the room, as Lord Wyldon stepped up to the podium, voiced some words towards Mithros, and they all jostled their ways towards the food.

Stabbing at a floret of broccoli with her fork, Nathalie still found herself alone. The pages that had been absent remained so, and although the dining hall was pleasantly quieter, it was still a strange feeling, to have such a large room so under-populated. Perhaps because of this, the meal passed incredibly slowly. Nathalie was grateful when the bells sounded that it was time to head off for afternoon classes. Although she knew very well that her next class was staff training with Lord Wyldon out on the practice courts, Nathalie was still missing one key piece of information – where _were_ the practice courts?

As she left the dining hall, this realization was finally beginning to sink in. She scanned the sea of pages for someone who looked even remotely trustworthy. It was easy to eliminate the ones that snickered when they saw her, as well as the ones who walked a little faster once their friends pointed out her presence. Nathalie didn't doubt that at least three quarters of the pages in the hallway would send her off into some far, possibly forbidden area of the palace grounds, and so it was quite important that she go to someone with a conscience for guidance.

Since the pages in her year all seemed to be hopelessly petty – and, come to think of it, probably didn't know their ways around the castle either – Nathalie's eyes began searching for an older page, or at least someone who looked responsible. Her petite stature forced her to stand on her toes to see over people walking past. Suddenly, there was a tap on her shoulder. Nathalie emitted a small yelp, whirling around to come face-to-face with a boy who looked about squire age, yet was still wearing the uniform of a page. Noticing that her mouth was hanging open, Nathalie snapped it shut, turning pink.

The boy chuckled, running a hand through his long dark hair. "I apologize for startling you," he said with a grin, "I'm Neal of Queenscove."

Nathalie's mouth twisted, unsure if the boy had ill intentions. There was no hint of malice in his startling green eyes, but Nathalie wasn't about to make such an important assumption based on appearances. Queenscove, though, was a ducal house, and one that should be respected. Even if he was one of the ones who so strongly opposed her trying for her knighthood, his very name commanded her respect. She dipped into a shallow curtsey, forgetting she had no skirts. Nathalie stopped herself almost immediately, but colour still rose in her cheeks. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Neal of Queenscove," she said smoothly, trying to pretend she hadn't just made a fool of herself. "I'm Nathalie of Everstone." _'But you already knew that, didn't you'_ she added mentally. After centuries of no girls doing page training – openly, rather – it was most certainly impossible for anyone to not know her name.

She eyed him with mild suspicious for several moments, waiting for him to explain himself. If he didn't catch on, it meant that he probably wasn't very bright, and so she wouldn't have to worry a great deal about him. Confusion creased his brow for a moment, before he understood.

"You look lost," he supplied.

"I am."

If this 'Neal' was surprised by her frankness, he didn't show it. Instead, he grinned once more, showing a row of perfectly straight, white teeth. "Your sponsor bail on you?" he didn't wait for an answer. "Where's you next class?"

"Staff training, with my lord Wyldon," she replied calmly, relieved she was finally getting somewhere. Although Neal didn't seem like an entirely responsible person, Nathalie had a feeling she could at least trust him for this.

Neal whistled, raising an eyebrow. "With the Stump? You'd better get going. I'll take you." Nathalie murmured her thanks, before looking up at the taller boy, her blue eyes curious.

"The Stump? I'm afraid I don't understand." Neal chuckled, looking a bit sheepish.

"It's the nickname I've come up with for my lord. You notice how he's so stiff all the time, like a tree stump? Anyways…" he pushed her along down a hallway, and Nathalie, whose legs were much shorter, had to rush to keep up. She frowned upon hearing Neal's words.

"I've been raised under the belief that nicknames are whimsical and unsophisticated," she stated, taking larger steps as some distance was put between them. "Is Neal short for something?"

"Nealan," he replied gravely, "But I hate it with a passion."

Nathalie disregarded the last part. "Than I shall call you Nealan." In her mind, it was much better to call him by his given name, especially since she didn't know him very well. A part of her brain was suppressing the reasoning that her statement might make him think she was _trying_ to antagonize him. This was far from Nathalie's intentions, however, as at this point, she was realizing that any ally was a valuable one.

As they made their way to the practice courts, Neal chattered amiably, occasionally dropping important pieces of information such as why he was so old for a first year page (he had been studying at the university) and a short-cut from her wing of the palace to the dining hall. Nathalie was finding that he wasn't that bad as company – better than Aaron, that is – and she would sometimes toss in some fact about herself when Neal allowed for an interjection into the conversation.

Upon arriving at the practice courts, Nathalie saw that several pages had already gathered there. She and Neal sped up their pace to come to stand at the back of the group. Lord Wyldon tossed her a slightly irritated look, as though she were a fly buzzing near his ear, before addressing the pages. He instructed them to take up a staff – essentially just long wooden poles – as well as a partner. Fear suddenly gripped Nathalie as she realized that, being the Girl, no one was going to approach her to be their partner. She was going to be humiliated once more, she was certain.

One could imagine her shock when Neal nudged her in the ribs, looking down at her – for he was a fair shot taller – expectantly. Nathalie gazed back, her expression totally blank. "Partner?" he asked, nudging her towards the barrel full of staffs. Nathalie didn't have time to reply, however, for a familiar voice sounded just a few paces away.

"You're asking _the Girl_, Queenscove?" sneered Conner of Ronsen as he plucked a staff out of the bin. Nathalie cringed – Neal would surely go and find someone else now. Much to her surprise – and likely to that of everyone else – Neal rounded on the boy, rolling his eyes.

"Yes," he replied patiently, "I am asking _the Girl_ to be my partner, Ronsen." Neal cleared his throat dramatically, and Nathalie felt utter terror grip her heart as she realized what he was going to do next. Neal looked over the group of pages, many of whom had stopped to look at Neal's curious actions. His eyes were sparkling merrily, a satisfied expression was on his face.

"I, Neal of Queenscove," he announced brazenly, "am asking the Girl to be my partner."

Nathalie moaned, ducking her head although she knew all eyes were now on her. This was definitely not going to be easy.

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Okay, so it kinda sucks, but you know what? You can tell me that! Click the friendly little review button, and give me just five more seconds of your time. Flames are accepted - even one-word flames like 'sucks' or 'cliché' - but of course, hefty praise would be nice as well.

Hint: Reviews make me update faster.


	5. Author's Note

**Alright. Here it is.  
**It's probably obvious that I haven't updated in a ridiculously long time. It's probably also obvious (to most of you, I hope) that these aren't exactly prime literature. I haven't actually looked at these in a while, but I do recognize that my characters could all have happily changed their names to Mary Sue and not given a second thought about it. As a writer, I'm kind of ashamed to have stories that lean in this direction, so this fic is hereby discontinued. If you _really, really want_ to keep me writing it, I'd need a lot of reviews saying as much, but then I'd also revamp it completely so that it's more realistic and generally _better_, but keep in mind that these are almost certainly dead. But yes. I will keep writing, most likely in these fandoms, and I can promise you that my characters will not be dizzyingly intelligent, beautiful, powerful, amazing people. Feel the shame radiating off me in waves. I'll also be changing my penname (this one feels awfully stale) so this is the last you'll be hearing from me under this name.

**Thanks for reading/reviewing!  
RainbowFlavouredMischief**


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